


Will They? Won't They?

by godgaypeen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, M/M, fluffy teachers who are in love but too chicken to say anything about it, the principal is God by the way, the worst meet-ugly i've ever written, there's only one bed oops, this is happier than most things i post uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-31 23:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godgaypeen/pseuds/godgaypeen
Summary: You know it's real, true, unapologetic love when the whole school -students and teachers alike- wants them to be together.





	Will They? Won't They?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my submission for the Good Omens Fan Exchange, aka #GOFanExchange 2019! One of the prompts given was teacher!au ineffable husbands, so... here it is!

It all started at a McDonald’s drive-thru.  
  
There were two cars in the drive-thru lane; one was a black Bentley owned by a red-haired man in Valentino sunglasses and a fashion sense to match, and the other was an adorable little Volkswagen (the old kind) belonging to a shockingly blond man who dresses as if he was stuck in the 1800s. If this was a different kind of story, it would be the location of a meet-cute, where the redhead pays for the blond man’s food, but of course, this was 7 am in fucking London, the city of beautiful landmarks and fucking hateful asshats of all races and religion. This was a meet-ugly if anything.  
  
The redhead in the first car, whose name is Anthony J Crowley (it’s just a J, really), was taking an awfully long time to order his meal, which was a simple Sausage and Egg McMuffin with hash browns and a latte on the side. He wasn’t in a hurry or anything since his new job doesn’t start in an hour so he took his time picking out his breakfast, even going so far as to flirt with the staff taking his order.  
  
Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the man in the other car, Mr. A. Z. Fell (honestly, what is it with these men and their middle names that doesn’t make sense?). Mr. Fell, commonly known as Aziraphale, was panicking in his car, his hands gripping the steering wheel anxiously. If you looked closer, you could see beads of sweat on his forehead. He had a new job too, and he was not late at all; in fact, he was stressing so much because he wanted to be at the workplace thirty minutes earlier than he was supposed to. Unable to handle the stress, poor Aziraphale slammed his fist against the wheel and honked. One long, drawn-out honk that lasted for ten seconds. Once he realized he was honking too long, he snatched his hand away from the wheel as if it was a hot stove, glancing up to see if the person in the other car had noticed his embarrassingly long honk. Needless to say, he definitely did.   
  
Crowley, clearly not expecting meaningful human interaction until his work started, stole a glance at the car behind him, his eyebrows furrowed. The other person looked as if he was… _yelling_ at himself? Shaking his head, Crowley stuck his head out of the window and glared at the other man, his anger quickly dissipating when he took note of how cute the man behind the wheel looked, even when he was essentially a rude bastard who couldn’t wait his turn. Deciding to mess with the poor chap a little bit, Crowley smiled at him, spoke to the McDonald’s worker and moved along, going up to the second window to pay.  
  
“What the fuck?” Aziraphale said as the red-haired man gave him a creepy smile and drove off. Not thinking much of it, he inched forward and placed his order quickly, having planned his meal since before leaving his little flat.  
  
Once Crowley was at the second window, he told the cashier that he was paying for both his food and for the car behind him. The cashier, a young woman who looked eternally bored out of her mind, didn’t think much of it, giving Crowley the necessary items and the mischievous man drove off with glee, an extra bag of McDonald’s breakfast in his passenger seat. This was definitely one of his better mornings.  
  
When Aziraphale found out that the other man had paid for his food and then proceeded to drive off with said food, he was already later than he dares hoped he would be, having no choice but to head to his new workplace with an empty stomach.  
  
Of course, karma came back to bite Anthony J Crowley in the arse during lunchtime, where he was introduced to another new teacher by his new teacher-friends, said teacher who was also on his first day there, just like Crowley. He had beautiful blond hair, twinkly eyes and the cutest of smiles that could end world hunger.  
  
Oh, and he was hungry as fuck because someone stole his McDonald’s breakfast.

* * *

That incident happened a year ago.  
  
Now, still working at the secondary school, Anthony J Crowley teaches History classes for the upper forms, his laid-back personality making him a favourite among students. The lessons with him were never boring, historical events explained so well as if he was actually there when it all happened. He was very passionate about the subject, his knowledge ranging from Ancient Greece to the Renaissance era, even dabbling in world politics at the side. Mr. Crowley, as his students called him, was also rather fond of gardening, tending to the brushes and such around the school, despite his unusual way of yelling at the poor plants when he thought no one was in earshot. They grew to be big, beautiful, luscious trees and well-groomed bushes, however, so who’s to say if Crowley held the secrets to maintaining a healthy garden.  
  
The other teacher, the one who famously got into a heated argument with the redhead teacher in the teacher’s lounge on his first day on the job about McDonald’s breakfast, taught English aside from being the school librarian as well. Aziraphale was a rather gentle, kindly man who put his students at ease the moment he walked into the class. The students adore him very much, his friendly, caring nature making it oh-so-easy for half of them to accidentally call him ‘Dad’ in at least one occasion. The blond didn’t mind, of course. He liked that the students liked him, it was comforting to be someone the young teens look for when they needed guidance, and he was damn good at it too.  
  
Throughout the school year, students and teachers alike have been making bets and assumptions about the two teachers. Ever since the McDonald’s debacle, Aziraphale was uncharacteristically distant with the redhead, giving him the cold shoulder when they met in the hallway, which was rather often really, especially since their classrooms were opposite each other. Inversely, it was hilarious how the usually laid-back teacher spent most of his run-ins with Aziraphale attempting to apologize for the McDonald’s incident and tripping over his words (and feet), frankly losing his cool-teacher persona around the blond. It was no secret to everyone but the unsuspecting men that Crowley was quite embarrassingly head-over-heels for the other man, but it was impossible to get him to admit to it, and even harder to ascertain if the English teacher returned the feelings. By the end of the third month on the job, Aziraphale began warming up to the other teacher, tolerating his odd mannerisms and even hanging out with him in the teacher’s lounge, spending their time together with food and long, meaningful (yet utterly absurd) conversations about anything and everything. When Crowley was tottering on and on about something or when he simply just wasn’t looking, Aziraphale glanced at him with the softest of glances, even going so far as to longingly watch as the taller man walked away from him after yet another attempt at making peace. Their attraction to each other could not be any more obvious, and it was infuriating for them to be such intelligent educators, and yet they legitimately could not figure out their feelings for the other.  
  
The whole school was rooting for them to get together.

* * *

They did get together, eventually.  
  
The Principal had called the two teachers to the office one morning, looking as serious as she could ever be when they walked in, smiling and laughing at something Aziraphale had said. They were to organize a two-day school field trip to Ireland for their students, she told them. It was honestly, a dream come true for the English teacher, as he did enjoy planning trips and bake sales and talent shows, and he knew this trip would be fun. Crowley, however, was not quite a big fan of school trips or anything that meant having to bond with anyone other than his blond best teacher-friend, but he figured he’d appreciate the extra time he got to spend with him, even if it was a school-related activity.  
  
Without many protests, Aziraphale managed to convince Crowley to put aside his disdain for school activities and _participate_. For the children, he’d say, and the redhead would groan and know that the blond was right, even if he still didn’t like the idea of being in charge of 60-something students with his immensely adorable coworker. They weren’t exactly the most responsible teachers, after all. Crowley would let their students run off without supervision, while Aziraphale gets easily distracted by the most trivial of things, and together, they serve as a rather dysfunctional couple… of friends. Teachers. Colleagues. Whatever.   
  
The first day of the trip itself was alright; the students were genuinely interested in the museum that they went to (a very good suggestion from Crowley), none of them went missing throughout the day, and everyone retreated to the hotel they would be staying in rather satisfied. Unfortunately for the two teachers, there had been a rather unpredictable mishap, and they would be staying in a room together. As if adding the proverbial cherry on top, there was only one goddamn bed. Aziraphale blushed deep red when they found out, his reaction rather comical, while Crowley.exe had stopped responding, the taller one practically gaping unabashedly.  
  
“This is fine. We’re fine.” Aziraphale said as he walked into the hotel room, eyeing the bed almost fearfully. “You can take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor.”  
  
“What?” Crowley’s rather pronounced accent made it sound as if he said ‘whot?’ instead, the man still standing by the doorway. It took him a moment to hurriedly enter the room with his overnight bag, closing the door shut behind him as he spoke. “No, I’ll sleep on the floor, you take the bed.”  
  
Aziraphale frowned at Crowley’s suggestion. “Well, we can’t both sleep on the floor.” He said frankly, setting his stuff down on the table before turning to look at his colleague. He was… well, he was rather intrigued by the idea of sleeping on the bed _with_ Crowley, due to his overbearing crush on the tall man, but another part of him knew that it would be so immensely awkward, he would never live it down.  
  
Crowley, however, was terrified by the idea of sharing a bed with Aziraphale. He was what one might call a ‘clingy sleeper’; he’s unable to sleep without a bolster pillow to hug, and he was positive that his very cute, very blond crush would fall victim to his sleeping self. “Why not we just stick a pillow in between us? That way neither of us would sleep on the floor.”  
  
_I doubt I’d be able to keep my hands off you even with a pillow in between us_, Aziraphale thought to himself, imagining a wonderful cuddling session with the slender man, then hastily brushing that thought away.  
  
“You what?” Crowley’s face was flustered, his eyebrows shooting up and his eyes were fixated on Aziraphale almost inquisitively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
It was a moment too late when the blond realized he had spoken his thoughts out loud, professing his musings to the one person he wasn’t supposed to tell them to. Immediately, he wondered if he could play it off as a mistake, to tell him that he spoke wrongly. Funny how an English teacher can’t formulate proper sentences, he’d laugh it off awkwardly, and Crowley would brush it off with a chuckle, telling him that it happens to the best of us. “I- Er…”  
  
“Aziraphale, is there something you’re not telling me?”


End file.
